In Darkness Born
by shaqb4
Summary: In a world with no prophecy, how would the world be different? In a world where the war never ended and history hasn't been written by the victors yet, what will become of the wizarding world? How will a generation of wizards raised in a war cope? Many crave power, but only some can have it.


**Disclaimer: I in no way, shape or form own anything from Harry Potter or anything associated with it. That's all J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

Albus Dumbledore strode into the dark, dingy bar-room of the Hog's Head, his mind troubled despite the relatively harmless purpose of his visit. Walking quickly past the locals quietly going about their business, he couldn't help but reflect on the cause of the somber mood in the pub. The war with Voldemort had done nothing but escalate. The complete and utter waste of wizard lives was astounding in its number.

_Nothing can undo what's been done. _The thought came unbidden to his mind, a knife aggravating an already sore wound. So much death. For what? So that dark magic would no longer be taboo. To make terrorizing muggles and anyone else deemed unworthy by Voldemort and his Death Eaters a valid pastime? Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head to remove the dark thoughts from his mind. After all, it's not as if they were new.

Finally reaching the stairs by the wall opposite the entrance, he ascended them and focused on the task at hand. Hogwarts was in need of a divination professor, and Sybil Trelawney was the only applicant for the job. He had his doubts about her talent, but she was at the very least knowledgeable about the subject, what with her being a descendent of the well-known seer Cassandra Trelawney.

Finally reaching the top of the stairs and taking a few small steps on the hard wood floor, Dumbledore opened the solid oak door on the left wall and walked into the simply furnished room. A tattered, dusty curtain blocked the waning light from entering through a medium sized window on the wall across from him. In the middle of the room was a small, rectangular wooden table with two chairs at opposite ends, one of which was occupied by who could only be Sybil Trelawney, his reason for being here. Pushing a practiced smile onto his face and his trademark twinkle to bear, Dumbledore shut the door behind him with a flick of his wand and walked to the empty chair. "Ms. Trelawney, I presume? Are you aware that you're the only applicant for the divination position?" He couldn't stop the curiosity that colored his tone.

Her bushy mane of blonde hair bobbed as she turned her wide eyes towards him and nodded her head emphatically. "I'm aware." Despite her outlandish appearance and enthusiasm, the seriousness in her voice was hard to mistake.

"And yet you still requested an official interview?" He had been quite surprised to receive her owl while in his office at Hogwarts asking to meet in person, especially after having already decided to hire her. It was well known that no one else had applied, and considering what had happened to the last professor...Well, Dumbledore couldn't blame the few people who would have been willing or capable for being hesitant. That had been a particularly unfortunate situation for everybody involved.

As if mirroring his thoughts, Trelawney leaned back and began to fidget with her hands, looking down at the table simultaneously. "Yes, well. After what happened to the last one, I-" She paused for moment as if unsure if she wanted to finish the thought or not. After a moment of silence he took pity on her, not needing his years of experience at observing people's emotions to guess at what was troubling her.

He spoke carefully so as to reassure her, putting on serious yet benign expression. Being left with an empty teaching position was not one of the tasks on his seemingly infinite list of things to do. "I can assure you that nothing like that will ever happen at Hogwarts again. I won't deny that what happened to Amia was horrifying," his voice hardened "but measures have been taken to prevent such an instance from occurring again, implemented by myself and others whom are the best in their respective fields of magic. If ever you have concerns whilst teaching at Hogwarts, they will of course be heard and dealt with immediately and to the best of my ability." The unsure woman, by the end of his impromptu speech, appeared to be much more confident in her new position, thankfully. "Now, I find that lighter matters are healthier to talk about in these dark times, unless you had something else in mind?" Here he waited to confirm there was nothing else. Dumbledore almost sighed in relief when she replied with a simple no. "In that case, while we're both here, perhaps you'd like to talk about the curriculum and syllabus you'll be teaching once you begin?"

And so they talked about the upcoming school year until there was nothing left to talk about in a place like the Hog's Head. All in all, he found her to be a nice enough woman, if slightly odd. In fact, it was one of her most appealing qualities, in his opinion. Finally standing up, he addressed Trelawney one last time. "It's been a pleasure, my dear. I'm looking forward to seeing you during the year, as I'm sure the rest of the staff is." He reached over the table to shake her hand.

"Thank you, Headmaster, for hiring me! To have the chance to go to Hogwarts and give students knowledge of the Sight is an honor." She too stood, grabbing his hand enthusiastically. Not able to stop the smile from appearing on his face from seeing such a cheerful person, Dumbledore strode towards the only door and exit of the nearly barren room. Stepping into the hallway and beginning his walk towards the stairs, thoughts of the rest of the day filled his head.

* * *

Voldemort surveyed his followers, arrayed in front of him, eyes compulsively looking anywhere but at him. All but a few wore their deathly masks, shaded to signify their all-important, always shifting ranks. The only ones with permission to be without their mask while in his presence were those who had proven themselves. They were only the very best of his inner circle. Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov were the most capable and powerful followers he had. They had wealth and influence, cunning and ambition. But above all, they were _his_. Completely and utterly, he owned them. Even now, he could feel them through his brand, the Dark Mark that they had willingly taken. From the moment they had taken that mark, their sole purpose had become to serve him. He let a small smirk distort his handsome features at the thought.

And how they longed to serve him. Before he'd come along and given them purpose, his glorious vision that they couldn't help be captivated by, they had been weapons with no wielder. They'd been purebloods angry at the power being taken away from them, slowly but surely. And yet they were nothing. They'd squabbled amongst themselves, unwilling to take true power for themselves, yet claiming to be the rightful rulers of the wizarding world.

All of them were idiots. He'd seen that after being in this world for a year. He admitted, he'd come from the orphanage hoping for a better world, one where others weren't weak like he'd known the muggles he'd grown up with were, though he hadn't known what to call them yet. Of course, he'd assumed that even in the wizarding world there wouldn't be many that could match him, but the culture of interbreeding and stagnation from one side and muggle-loving on the other had quickly dissuaded him of that hope. The sheer weakness everywhere in the world had been extremely disappointing. It was a society led by a few who stood out, those such as Dumbledore and Grindelwald who had the ambition to back up their pure magical power. Aside from the dangerous few, though... sheep to be lead and cattle to be branded. What else could he have done but rise above and lead?

Slowly, he had brought the purebloods to heel under his cause, to bring back the glory of Dark magic and strengthen magic to what it once had been. After Hogwarts, he had gained knowledge and performed rituals to prepare for the war he was soon to start. Then, he had struck. He had planted his followers throughout the Ministry of Magic and then begun his war in earnest. Those who fought him died by the hundreds. The one person who had suspected him, Dumbledore, had done nothing and by then it was far too late. The Ministry, while not his in name yet, was useless against him. The Order of the Phoenix was too little too late, and he was winning. He would annihilate those who opposed him and then, finally, he'd shape the world in his image. Tonight was the beginning of the end for his enemies.

His Death Eaters had hardly dared to breathe during the silence since they had been called to him. Their fear was palpable and he reveled in it. One curse, on one person is all it would take to solidify their fear, justify it and make it tear them apart. But not tonight. He wanted them aware, not clouded by fear. There was a time and a place, he'd learned, for fear.

Finally he spoke, eliciting a rustle from those bowed in front of him. His magic permeated the chamber, dark and beautiful. Already he could see them respond to it. "My followers. Do you know why you're here?" No one was foolish enough to respond to his enticing voice, though it seemed to invite them. "No?" With a casual flick of his yew wand in his pale wrist, the floor in front of his black throne opened up to reveal a small chamber. The ones bowed closes to the opening struggled not to recoil at the sight that greeted them. A cage with one man in it sat in its middle, rising slowly until it was fully in the main throne room. The man was battered and caked with blood, his arms and legs manacled to the sides of his prison so that he was spread eagled. Even still, he looked unbelievably old. What little could be seen through the grime in his hair was grey and his face seemed to have seen so many years that it had stopped aging long ago. The rest of his body was too warped and bruised to come to the same conclusion.

The floor closed shut beneath the floating cage. The man was clearly awake, his mind aware despite his condition because his eyes looked straight at the man responsible. Voldemort smiled at his prey, eyes gleaming in anticipation. "I've been waiting a long time for this moment, Nicolas Flamel. Welcome to your new world." An anguished cry was his only response.

* * *

**AN:** Wow, so here's my first story in a loooong time. I know it's short, but I'm still getting into the groove of writing again. I don't have a beta currently, so any constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading


End file.
